


she does what the night does to the day

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Mild Smut, this is like 75 percent bad pick up lines okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:58:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8637817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: He assumes she would just giggle and continue petting him while saying how pretty he is, but instead, she pulls back with what might have been a leer had she not been three sheets to the wind, and says, “Your body is 65% water and I’m thirsty.”And then if that wasn’t bad enough, she stumbles out of his arms and fucking winks at him.Or at least he thinks it’s a wink. She used both eyes instead of one.or, the one where Bellamy is woefully and terribly oblivious.





	

**Author's Note:**

> basically [kcismyreligion](http://kcismyreligion.tumblr.com) and i started talking about [this gifset](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com/post/153360107421/the-100-text-messages) i made on tumblr and it essentially devolved into the two of us agreeing that clarke is nothing more than a lusty frat boy who has like, the worst pick up lines ever which for some reason is endearing to bellamy
> 
> seriously this is nothing but like 5k of fluff

Bellamy doesn’t really do the whole party scene that often. Sure, it’s nice to get free drinks and an ego boost from time to time, but that feeling only lasts for the first half hour. After that it’s just warm beer, an overwhelming amount of rowdiness, and someone either ends up throwing up on themselves or calling the cops. Usually both.

But Miller wanted company while he sought out the boy from his lit class he had a crush on, and Raven was finally off her meds which meant she could drink, so Bellamy somehow ended up in the role of the exasperated soccer mom trying to wrangle them into some semblance of order.

Key word being trying

They’ve already been here for almost two hours, and frankly, they’re lucky he hasn’t murdered anyone as yet. The music is too loud, there’s far too much people stuffed in the frat house, so much so that they’ve begun to spill out onto the lawn despite the chilly fall weather, and frankly there seems to be nothing nonalcoholic being served at all unless he counts some sketchy looking cans of Red Bull which- he’s not that desperate, not yet.

So yeah, Bellamy is pissed off and tired and wants to do nothing but go home and finish his documentary on the Romanovs where he can simply be in peace and quiet and solitude.

Of course, it’s just not his night, so somehow while trying to find them, he ends up with an armful of drunk blonde which- he  _ so  _ does not want to deal with this right now.

She’s hiccupping and giggling, petting his arms where he’s holding up at least 87% of her weight, and there’s nothing else for him to do but awkwardly drag her off to the side.

“You’re very pretty,” she slurs, still petting his biceps. He makes a face and tries to put some distance between them but it’s to no avail. The girl might be drunk, but she certainly won’t be moved from her current position.

“Um, thanks, I guess,” he says in return, and she giggles again, pressing her face into his chest for a brief moment before looking up at him. He’s had drunk girls telling him hot he is before, but never has one actually thrown herself at him like this, with about the same level of excitement as a puppy on its first day at the park. It’s uncharted territory and Bellamy isn’t quite sure how to deal.

“Did you know that you have stars on your face?” she asks, poking his cheek where he assumes might be a freckle. Her face is screwed up and her tongue is poking out a little in a way that makes it hard for him to think that she’s anything but adorable. She draws a line across his face with a shaky finger, “ _ So _ many stars. You’re very pretty with your face stars.”

“They’re called freckles actually,” he says, amused despite himself.

“ _ Frecklessss _ ,” she repeats, drawing out the ‘s’ and her fingertips brush across his lips, sending a jolt through him.

They just stand there for a minute, Bellamy holding her up while she traces the freckles across his face until she sighs again, “You’re the prettiest.”

“Thanks. You’ve said that already,” he tells her, biting back a smile.

He thinks she tries to roll her eyes, but all she manages to do is go cross eyed for a moment before looking back up at him. “Yeah, but it’s true, uh-”

“Bellamy,” he supplies.

She nods and just says, “Yeah, it’s true, Baloney.”

That’s what breaks him, and he finds himself snorting a laugh even while her fingers continue poking and prodding.

“You’re pretty drunk right now, aren’t you?” he asks, a smile tugging at his lips

It just widens when she gives a dramatic nod of her head and says, “Thanks. You’re very pretty right now. And always I assume. You and your face stars.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. “Alright come on, let’s get some water in you before you die or something.”

He assumes she would just giggle and continue petting him while saying how pretty he is, but instead, she pulls back with what might have been a leer had she not been three sheets to the wind, and says, “Your body is 65% water and I’m  _ thirsty _ .”

And then if that wasn’t bad enough, she stumbles out of his arms and fucking  _ winks  _ at him.

Or at least he thinks it’s a wink. She used both eyes instead of one.

She pats his chest and stumbles away, back into the crowd, while Bellamy stands there stock still, trying to make sense of what just happened.

He huffs, ruffling his hair once more as he stares at the spot where she disappeared into the throngs of bodies. See, this is why he doesn’t like coming to parties.

* * *

 

 

In all honesty, Bellamy mostly forgets about the whole ordeal a day later. Besides, having a relatively hot girl come up and start feeling his arms is definitely not the worst thing that’s happened to him at a party. Still though, he does make sure to mention it in passing to Raven and Miller as he drives them home because he’s a surly son of a bitch who wants them to know just exactly what he had to go through to accompany them to this party. Other than that, it leaves his mind entirely.

Of course, things are never that easy in his life, because Raven finally decides to bring over her friend Clarke to their weekly video games and pizza hang out night, and lo and behold standing on the other side of the door is the drunk girl from the party.

He blinks twice just to make sure he’s not seeing things.

Drunk girl-  _ Clarke-  _ on her part seems just as surprised and confused to see him, squinting up at him with a frown.

“Um,” he starts, not exactly sure where he’s going with this.

She snaps her fingers and points at him. “Baloney.”

He ducks his head, smiling. “Bellamy,” he corrects her, stepping to the side and allowing them to come in. “It’s okay, I didn’t expect you to remember; you were too busy telling me that I was very pretty with my face stars.”

She scrunches up her face and he wants to smooth it over with his fingers. “Face stars?”

“That was what you chose to call my freckles.”

Clarke flushes bright pink and groans, and that’s when Raven jumps in with a, “Wait, he's  _ Freckles _ ?” her voice tinged with disbelief.

“I met her at the party last weekend,” Bellamy says, just as Clarke mutters, “Yeah, he’s Freckles.”

Raven Reyes is perhaps Bellamy’s scariest friend, and he’s remind of the fact when she fucking  _ cackles  _ while looking between the two of them.

“Oh, this is just too good,” she says, wiping away a tear as she shoulders past them to get in the tiny apartment. She shrugs her coat off and flings at Miller’s face before throwing herself down on the sofa. “Too damn good.”

Bellamy and Clarke exchange a look and he scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly, willing himself not to flush under Raven’s smug look. Clarke on her part ignores this and hangs her coat on the coat rack next to his because she’s not an animal unlike some people.

“What’s too damn good?” he asks, sliding the deadbolt back in place.

“Nothing,” Raven says, still chortling to herself, “Nothing at all.” 

Bellamy squints at her, still not quite bought on the whole thing, while Clarke just rolls her eyes and says drolly, “Yeah, because that’s a totally innocent statement.”

Raven barely acknowledges them and thrusts out a hand in their general direction, a controller already grasped in it. “Shut up Griffin and come here. Let me show you how to kick Miller’s ass in this.”

She glances back over at Bellamy, bottom lip caught between her teeth and shrugs, wry, “How can I say no to that?”

He snorts. “It’s a hard sell, yeah, but don’t worry. If you win, Miller will cry for only like 3 minutes.”

“Fuck you, Blake.”

“That’s nice but what I want to know is how much you’re gonna cry when I beat you,” Clarke says sweetly, and Bellamy barks out a laugh as he follows her into the living room.

“Glad to know you’re a lot more fun sober than drunk,” he says as they settle onto the couch.

She hums happily, shoulder brushing against his arm when she shifts to curl her feet under her body. “All I’m hearing is that you’re a crybaby.”

“Am not,” he pouts, the same time Raven snorts and says, “He is.”

Bellamy shoots her a dark look and kicks her foot off the table before turning back to Clarke who was watching them, amusement growing in her eyes. He tries for a smirk, looming over her and getting into her personal space. “You think you can kick my ass, Princess?” he asks, voice pitched low. He doesn’t know where the nickname come froms, but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she squares her shoulders and pushes her chest out as she meets his eye, nothing more than hair’s breadth between them.

For a moment it seems like there’s no one else in the room. Just him and the infuriating blonde that intrigues him to no end.

Clarke matches his smirk and shoves a controller to his chest, effectively breaking the spell. He catches Raven watching them carefully out of the corner of his eye and he clears his throat, pulling back.

She seems unfazed, shooting him a sly look as Miller finishes setting up the game.

“Of course I’m going to kick your ass,” she says primly as it begins, all four of them punching and twisting controllers aggressively.

He thinks that’s all she has to say on the matter, and Bellamy redoubles his efforts in beating her because she is actually pretty good at it.

In the end she does win, and after enthusiastically pumping her fist in the air, she turns to him and says, “Told you I was gonna beat your ass. And such a shame as well,” she drawls, looking him up and down, “It’s such a good ass too.”

She flounces off to sit by Raven before he can do anything other than let his controller drop to the floor.

 

* * *

 

After that, Clarke eventually becomes part of their little group, and Bellamy learns three things.

The first being that not only is she one of Raven’s closest friends, but they ended up like that after finding out they were both dating the same two timing asshole.

The second was that she was insanely good at both Mario Party and Call of Duty, which was basically Miller’s only criteria when it comes to keeping people.

And the last was that Clarke Griffin was without a doubt, 100%, completely and unequivocally, a frat boy in the disguise of a pretty girl.

Seriously.

She swears like a drunken sailor, drinks like a tank, and apparently that terrible pick up line she tried on him the night they met was just one of many.

(And those many ranged from obnoxiously cheesy, incredibly lewd, and straight up made him act like a cross between a crotchety seventy year old and blushing virgin when she decided to hit him with it.)

The first time- or second time really- she did it was relatively tame. It was the same night Raven first introduced her to the group and about an hour in, after she whooped Miller’s ass in the first game, she flops down on the couch next to him, relaxed as anything.

“I’m headed to the kitchen; want another beer?” he asks as he stands up. She nods and a few minutes later he returns and passes the cold bottle over to her.

“Thanks,” she replies, taking a pull before gently pressing her shoulder into his. “Hey. Hey Bellamy. Did you just come out of the oven? Because you’re  _ hot _ .”

She snickers and he just blinks, looking down at her. Clarke is the picture of innocence, all wide eyes and wisps of hair coming out from her braid and for some reason he feels a flush crawling up his neck. “Um, thanks,” he says, and the grabs the nearest thing on the coffee table which turns out to be a bowl of crisps. “Want one?”

(She’s strangely smug for the rest of the night, while Bellamy can’t seem to look her in the eye.)

It doesn’t help that that seems to be her default way of interacting with him, and Bellamy never knows what to do other than stand there awkwardly, sometimes blushing, sometimes not, and quickly changing the subject after a pregnant pause.

(On one memorable- or cringeworthy, rather- occasion, the four of them went out to brunch to meet Miller’s new boyfriend, and she turned to him and said, “What’s your favourite piece of silverware? Because I like to spoon.”

Bellamy responded in turn by all but throwing the basket of muffins at her face.)

It’s not like he asks to be awkward around her, it’s just that Clarke has definitely crossed the ‘kinda cute drunk stranger’ point and is somewhere between ‘very cute and I’d like to hold your hand’ and ‘oh fuck I’m screwed’ territory. It’s a bit of a problem.

One that’s only made worse by her constant use of cheesy pickup lines which, despite being absolutely terrible, never fail to make his heart squeeze in his chest if only for a moment.

 

* * *

He finally brings it up to Raven a month later when they’re at the movies together to see Fantastic Beasts. Clarke had just returned from the concessions stand and upon Bellamy’s arrival, she presses the tub of popcorn to her chest and bats her eyelashes dramatically as she says, “You’re my  _ butter  _ half, Bellamy. I  _ doughnut  _ know what I’d do with you.”

She winks, this time clicking her imaginary finger guns at him because, as she says, she’s cool, and leaves the snacks with them before darting off to the bathroom.

“Is she always like… that?” he asks lamely after waving his hands around in some sort of gesture.

“Like what?” Raven asks distractedly, texting away on her phone. “Punny? Cheesy? Full of dad jokes and humour so stale it’s probably growing mold?”

He just blinks because that’s a pretty accurate way of describing her. “Yeah.”

“Yep,” she says, popping the p, “Clarke’s like that with everyone.”

He doesn’t know why his heart sinks a little at that, but he steadfastly ignores it, choosing instead to focus on the row of movie posters surrounded by blinking lights. “Good to know,” he says and if his voice comes out a little strange, well, no one really notices.

It’s only after that he decides to do something about it.

Besides, if Clarke can continue to subject him with honest to god terrible pick up lines whenever she sees him well, he can return the favour, can’t he?

The first time he does it, she’s over at his and Miller’s apartment for game and movie night once more and they’re debating what to order for dinner.

“I’m in the mood for pizza,” she says, and then her eyes light up and Bellamy knows what’s coming two seconds before she turns to him and says, “A pizza you, that is.”

He represses a groan- and a smile as well actually- and tugs on her braid. “You’re always in the mood for pizza.”

“I can’t help if it’s my favourite thing to eat!” she defends herself, and this time he rolls his eyes.

‘Yeah, well, pizza is only my  _ second  _ favourite thing to eat,” he tells her, voice dripping in innuendo. And, if it wasn’t clear enough, he drops her a quick wink before hightailing it off to the kitchen to grab drinks, hearing her choke on nothing behind him.

After that things get a little bit… heated between them.

Bellamy would just like everyone to know that it’s all her fault. He’s an upstanding citizen working towards getting his history degree. He should not be reduced to trading suggestive and downright lewd comments with Clarke Griffin but alas, that’s exactly what he’s doing.

“I might not go down in history, but I’ll go down on you,” she says when she finally learns what he’s studying, lying belly down on his bed with her ankles crossed in the air as she thumbs through some of his old essays. It’s a good look on her, definitely not something that helps with this little infatuation thing he has going on, and he replies half a beat later than normal.

Bellamy’s voice is deadpan, drier than California in the summer as he says, “Oh Clarke, you’ve got me hotter than Rome under Nero.”

The joke is lost on her, as she just looks up, head cocked to the side and says, “I don’t get it.”

(Bellamy then spends the next two hours explaining the Julio-Claudian dynasty to her, something that she takes in with great rapture, until they’re interrupted by Raven knocking on the door before barging in two seconds later saying that they better have all their clothes on.)

(She’s damn well unimpressed, even more so when they leave his room, both of them blushing and unable to make eye contact.)

That’s how things go between them from then on, the two of them pushing the envelope to see just how far they can go before it rips, and frankly, Bellamy is equal parts terrified and interested to see where that is gonna lead them.

“That shirt looks good on you,” Clarke hiccups, fitting herself under his shoulder, “But you know where it would look even better? My bedroom floor.”

Bellamy hides his grin in her hair, pulling her closer. Finals finished today, and like any respectable college student, they’re all celebrating by getting drunk on cheap liquor at a hole in the wall bar.

Clarke even proves that she had other friends besides them, dragging out both Roan and Luna out with them, which Raven seems to appreciate quite a lot. Still though, it’s nice to know that he’s her favourite one here, even if she hasn’t said that in quite as many words, choosing instead to stick to his side like glue.

“You know what would look even better on you?” she continues, tangling their fingers together and pulling him back to their booth to sit, “Me.”

They have the whole booth to themselves, and she still chooses to sit pressed into his side, legs thrown across his lap. He sees Roan watching them with an undecipherable look and he pulls her closer.

Bellamy smirks, resting his palm on the hem of her skirt that’s started riding high on her thighs. “Me, huh?” he rumbles, nosing the side of her head. He’s also had a few drinks, not much, just some celebratory shots and a couple beers, but it’s enough to make him feel a bit spacey, to loosen up his tongue just enough that the words flow out unhindered. “You sayin’ you like to be on top, Princess?”

She snaps her teeth playfully at him, actually managing to graze the tip of his finger, and he swallows, throat suddenly dry.

“What I  _ like _ ,” she starts off slowly, taking her time in enunciating each word, “Is to be in charge.”

He can’t help the full body shiver that rolls through him at that, and his head actually bows forward onto hers, an almost soundless groan sliding through his lips. One of her hands have found purchase in the hair at the nape of his neck, fingers tangled in it, and it does nothing to aid in his current predicament.

“Figures you’d be bossy,” he rasps against her, and the hand on her thigh climbs higher.

“I just know what I like and that doesn’t entail fooling around.”

Her hair is tickling his nose, but he doesn’t dare move. “It’s called foreplay, Griffin, and my guess is that you’ve never been with anyone who knows what they’re doing.”

She pulls back, rolling her eyes, but he can see the tinge of colour in her cheeks, the way her eyes have darkened just so slightly and how her pulse has picked up.

“And do you?” she asks, “Do you know what you’re doing?”

He offers her a wicked half smile, one full of promise, and says, “Well there’s only one way to find out that.”

She gives him an appraising look, one that lingers on his mouth, and just when she’s about to say something, Miller pops in.

“Now, now kids, this is a family place,” he drawls, and the two of them jump. Bellamy becomes painfully aware of the legs strewn across his lap and his hand far higher on her thigh than any friend has the right to be.

“This is a bar,” she says, dry, “I’m pretty sure there aren’t any kids here.”

“You don’t know that,” he says, and that’s when Bellamy takes his chance to escape.

He muffles a half hearted excuse about needing some water and then spends the rest of the night making sure there’s at least one person between them at all times.

The next morning of course Miller asks over breakfast, “So how long are you planning to hide that you and Griffin have been hooking up? Until Christmas? Are you gonna make out underneath the mistletoe like those Hallmark movies? Send us all really creepy holiday cards with your faces on it while wearing ugly straight people sweaters?”

Bellamy makes a face and drains the milk from his cereal bowl while Miller makes a noise of disgust in the background. “Okay one, neither of us are straight so I don’t know how that’s gonna work. Two, you need to watch something other than Lifetime when you’re bored. And three, Clarke and I are not dating. Secretly or thereof.”

“It’s too early in the morning to use thereof in a sentence.”

“Fuck you, Miller.”

“Seriously though,” he presses, letting his spoon clatter against the bowl, “The two of you are not dating? Like at all?”

“Nope.”

“Then what the fuck was that last night? And all the other nights before that too, actually.”

He feels the flush crawl up his skin and Bellamy scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It’s just a joke between two friends I guess.”

“A joke,” Miller deadpans. “I don’t know about you but I don’t tell my friends that I want to eat them out as a joke.”

The flush deepens. “Well, when you put it like that…”

He scrubs a weary hand across his face. “You mean to tell me that you two have been highkey flirting while making everyone else vaguely uncomfortable ‘as a joke’ for the past three months?”

“Well what else am I supposed to do,” Bellamy bursts, “It’s not like Clarke wants to do anything more than that. I’m just the idiot who has a crush he doesn’t know how to deal with.”

Miller stares at him. “Look, dude, I don’t know how to break it to you, but the girl has been hitting on you for the past three months. She wants to go out with you for some reason.”

Bellamy blinks. “No she’s doesn’t,” he says, firm. “Raven said that’s just how she is with everyone.”

Miller rolls his eyes. “Yeah because she hits on Raven and I as much as she hits on you. Jesus, you’re a dumbass.”

“I- yeah, you’re probably right.” He rakes a hand through his sleep mussed hair. “What do I do now?”

“What, am I supposed to give you a step by step guide on how to ask someone out? You know there’s a wiki how for that, right? How on earth have you ever gotten anyone to sleep with you before? You’re completely inept.”

“Thanks Miller,” he says in a strangled voice, “You’re always so supportive.”

He flips him off. “Whatever. When you two start fucking, please keep it confined to your room, thanks.”

Bellamy doesn’t really recall getting to Clarke’s dorm, but soon enough he’s standing there in a pair of old sweats and a t shirt with holes in the collar, hand poised to knock. It hovers there for a moment as he finally stops to contemplate whether or not this is a good idea, but in the end all he does is take a deep breath before knocking solidly on the door.

It takes her a full minute to get the door, and it’s the longest minute of his life.

When she does, she’s squinting up at him, half asleep, with her hair puffed out around her head like a lion’s mane. It makes him smile softly, ducking his head to hide it.

“Bellamy?” she croaks out, opening the door wider. “What are you doing here?”

It’s only then he realises that he didn’t exactly plan what he was going to say, instead opting to show up at her room out of the blue at 9:34 a.m. while she’s probably nursing a hangover.

It’s almost enough to make him do a 180 and hightail it back to his apartment and hide out for the next week or so.

Instead he just steels himself and says, “Um, can I come in?”

Her eyebrows scrunch together but she lets him in nonetheless, closing the door with a soft thud behind them. He can count the number of times he’s been in her dorm on one hand. Clarke prefers to come over to his place, where it’s a bit bigger than a coat closet and with better wifi.

She plops herself down on her bed cross-legged and he follows suit, albeit sitting far more gingerly.

He doesn’t know how to broach the topic, so instead he throws caution to the wind and grabs her hand, placing it on his chest.

“Do you know what this shirt is made out of?” he asks, hoping she can’t feel just how hard his heart is pounding behind his sternum.

She’s too tired to follow what would have been an obvious set up, swaying into his side a bit as they go. “What?” she asks on a yawn, and he smiles again, brushing the hair away from her face.

“Boyfriend material,” he states and Bellamy’s immensely proud that his voice doesn’t waver one bit.

Clarke goes still at that, and she peers up at him from under her eyelashes. “What,” she repeats, sounding ten times more awake than last, and he just offers her a sheepish smile in turn.

“I uh- Miller told me that apparently it’s not normal to do this back and forth thing we have going on with the pick up lines. Especially when I’m kind of halfway in love with you,” he says, still holding on to her hand which has gone lax in his grip.

“What.”

“Please say something other than what. You’re kinda scaring me here, like should I start running because I pushed my foot in my mouth or what?”

“What,” she says with a hint of a smile, “Definitely or what,” and she twists her hand to link it together with his.

Bellamy feels his entire body relax as the air whooshes out of him, only to be replaced by something brighter that makes his stomach feel like it’s housing a colony of butterflies.

“Oh thank god,” he says sagging forward, and that’s when she cocks her head to the side, looking at him.

“Wait,  _ Miller  _ had to point it out?” she snorts.

Bellamy flushes. “Yeah, I’m apparently an oblivious dumbass and last night was the tipping point for him.”

She licks her lips when he mentions last night, and the memory of all the things they said makes his body hum like a livewire.

“I can’t believe it. I literally hit on you all the time,” she says, drawing closer to him so that she’s almost sat on his lap.

“What was I supposed to think?” he asks, hands going to her hips, slipping under her sleepshirt just to caress her bare skin. “The first time we met, you hit on me!”

“Exactly,” she hums, leaning in close and he actually does pull her onto his lap, knees sinking in the mattress on either side of his hips. “The first time we met, I hit on you.”

“...  _ Oh _ .”

There was a hand in his hair, rucking up his curls, while his remained heavy on her hips, grounding her to him. Her nose brushes against his cheekbones and she leaves a butterfly kiss in its wake. Bellamy feels her hovering over his lips, and he actually holds his breath, eyes shut as he waits for her to close that tiny gap between them.

The first touch of her lips is gentle, tentative, just the soft press of her mouth against his, and he inhales sharply, cupping her face with one hand while the other squeezes her hip hard enough to leave bruises down below.

It stays soft and lazy, the two of them pressed up against each other as they trade languid kisses that make him feel like there’s a starburst on the tip of his tongue, lighting him up from the inside out. She leaves her fingers in his hair, scritching lightly against his scalp and feeling the way his pulse skitters in his neck.

They eventually do have to pull away, and Bellamy feels like he’s stuck in a haze, just a mindless chant of  _ Clarke, Clarke, Clarke, _ playing on loop in his head.

Their noses bump together, and then, without any warning, Clarke throws her arms around his shoulders, sending them falling backwards against the mattress.

She lands with an ‘oof’ against his chest and Bellamy wheezes, “Warn a guy next time, Princess.”

Her laughter is only slightly muffled by his neck. “I’m sorry, I just wanted this for a while.”

His smile softens and he leans up to pluck another kiss, this one more biting than the last and it leaves her whining against his lips when he pulls away.

“I guess I can forgive you for manhandling me,” he sighs, though the stupid grin on his face belies any ill will, “Besides, I can’t say I mind the view from down here.”

She smirks down at him, running here hands appreciatively over his rather solid chest. “Well, I did say I like to be on top.”

His lips slowly curve up into a sinful grin, one that matches hers to the t, and he fists the thin material of her sleep shirt in his hands, pushing it up. Clarke just grabs hold of the entire thing and tugs it off, and Bellamy makes a low groan in the back of his throat when he sees her exposed breasts, hands immediately coming up to play with them and making her keen.

“You’re right,” he hums, squeezing them gently, “We did say a lot of things last night didn’t we?”

She grinds down on him and his hips jerk. “Mmhmm. We said a lot of things these past few weeks.” She leans down to kiss him again, harder than the last two times, tongue sweeping in his mouth to make him groan. “I think I need someone to ah, refresh my memories.”

He gives her a boyish smile in response, trailing his fingers down her back until they reach the elastic band of her panties.

“Then allow me to help,” he says, and Clarke lets him do just that.

Later, she lying on his chest with an arm curled around her shoulders, just breathing.

“You know,” she says, her voice gone a bit hoarse, “I’m glad you didn’t pick up on it the first time. I just wanted something for that night alone.”

Bellamy presses her kiss to her temple and she sighs, cuddling closer to him. “And now?” he asks, voice rumbling beneath her.

“Now I know that you’re definitely boyfriend material,” she says, and he laughs while she hides her grin in his chest.

“You really are something, aren’t you?” he asks, unable to keep the awe out of his voice.

She shakes her head. “Not something,” she replies, “Yours,” and then presses a kiss to his sternum, right above his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm always on [tumblr](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com) if you want to yell about these fools


End file.
